More than what we see
by Gariand
Summary: ONESHOT. Will we miss something? Simply because we are too blind or close-minded to see that which is in front of us?


**More than what we see**

* * *

_The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself. _

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

_Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth. _

_Benjamin Disraeli_

* * *

If Wendy had learned anything, it was that things were not always as they seemed.

She was convinced in her youth that she had feelings for Stan. She was then convinced she had feelings for Token. She again became convinced that she had feelings for Stan.

Love was a confusing thing.

And for years she had merely told herself that she was just confused about her feelings, that as she matured they would eventually sort themselves out. Wendy felt as if she had tried everything to get her "confusion" in order; she had tried getting Stan to notice her, she had tried getting Token to notice her and all the way through both relationships she had denied to herself any confronting thoughts on the subject.

She had then noticed the amount of attention Bebe was receiving from the boys. To her, this was a solution; if she could focus the boys' attentions upon herself, using behavioural theory from psychology, if that invoked a good response, she could finally teach herself how to combat this confusion she had. This "clever" plan of hers appeared restricted by the simple fact that she knew High School Psychology. Nobody liked a nerd.

So she got boobs. Bigger boobs than even Bebe had. She had considered that the outcome and attention that would arise from them were completely worth just how uncomfortable they were. Oh and she got attention, alright. Completely the wrong sort of attention she wanted. Dammit, if the constant teasing and chanting weren't bad enough, the negative effects completely messed up the whole "Learning Theory" plan. She felt even more confused than she had before.

Years later, even after the shrieks of "Big tits!" had subsided, Wendy had discovered the root and the remedy of her confusions. If she had been told that she would stumble upon the immediate answer when somebody moved next door, she would probably have laughed. An answer doesn't take a second; it takes days, months, even years of solving. Although, even as these thoughts swirled in her head, it hit her.

The answer had taken years, but this event was merely the trigger for it to be fully realised.

Everything was no longer as it seemed.

* * *

If Stan had learned anything, it was that things were not always as they seemed.

Sure, he and Kyle had that special "Super Best Friend" thing between them, but why should it mean that they were any closer than that? Other kids had friends, and nobody shouted "Fags!" at their retreating backs, so why should he and Kyle suffer the punishment just for being really really good friends?

Of course, he had to ask himself, was he one hundred percent sure that they were just really really good friends? Was his reminiscing of Kyle holding him tightly when he was suffering from vaginitis something more than just reminding himself of Kyle's "friendly" concern for him? Or was it that Stan craved to feel Kyle's slender arms around him again, comforting and caressing…

And as soon as his thoughts even threatened to stray in that direction he would shake his head ferociously, determined to think of football, and Playboy and everything else that he was supposed to think about at his age.

How the hell could he like Kyle if he had felt so strongly about Wendy? His love for Wendy had been real at one point; he highly doubted that anyone in the world could make him as depressed and worthless as she made him feel after the notorious break-up in fourth grade.

_Except probably Kyle…_

Stan suddenly filled his brain with thoughts on John Elway. Still, no matter how much he focused on his idol, there was still that thought burrowing away at the back, that would not go away no matter how many football players he attempted to think on instead.

As if these homosexual doubts weren't enough, Stan could have been knocked down with a feather on yet another fateful day concerning Wendy…

"_Dude? Who is that with Wendy?"_

_Stan glanced over at where his "super best friend", if he could call him less than a crush at this point, was gazing at. He himself had to do a double take._

"_Is that a guy or a gal?"_

_They had both seen it. This… person holding hands with Wendy looked masculine enough, on account of the clothes and hairstyle, but upon closer inspection he could definitely make out a feminine figure hidden beneath the shirt._

"_No… way…"_

_The giggling Wendy, still clutching "it"s hand came over to Stan, with a sudden look of business in her eyes._

"_Stan, can I talk to you?"_

_He nodded his head, following her a few metres away from Kyle and "it", the former evidently looking none too happy to be left alone with the latter._

"_Stan… I have something to tell you…"_

_He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Lesbian."_

"_Well… yeah," she said lightly, shuffling her feet. "Bit obvious, huh?"_

"_Just a bit when you come strolling down the street with THAT _hanging_ on your arm!" He pointed for emphasis._

"_Excuse me, Stanley, but SHE happens to be called… well, she likes to be called Gari."_

_At these words, Stan wondered how he had stopped himself from collapsing with laughter._

"_Oh please! Don't tell me! You've had enough of guys so you date a girl who happens to act like one!"_

_Wendy took her defensive mode. "Look, I never liked guys! Everything I did was a mistake, just a way to try and figure out… what I wanted. Nothing worked for me; not you, not Token. But in the same way, I couldn't see myself with a girl, but then…" Her eyes glazed over dreamily, "she moved in next to me… and we just knew…"_

_There was silence, punctuated only slightly by Stan breathing heavily through his nose._

"_Damn, Wends, what an interesting story. You know how I just love being told how you used me, when I actually gave a crap about you. And then you throw in a lovely dyke story as well, isn't that nice…"_

"_I didn't have to come tell you, you know! I could have just left it for you to find out from gossip and rumours behind our backs! But you needed to know, Stanley. I do 'give a crap' about you, maybe not in the way you would like, but if I didn't… I wouldn't have bothered!"_

_Wendy stormed back to her girlfriend, eyes shining with tears before tugging her away. This "Gari" gave a stupid little wave before turning to face the same direction as the black-haired girl beside her; away from us._

"_Dude, that's gay."_

_Stan quickly grabbed Kyle's shirt collar, grinding his teeth._

"_Kyle, from now on, DON'T use that word as an insult, you hear me?"_

_There was fear bubbling in his emerald eyes as Stan let go. "Stan? What's the matter? I mean, it was kinda gay, two chicks and all…"_

"_I mean it, just don't use it as a substitute for stupid, or lame, or anything else, okay?" He was close, so close to revealing his secret. Wendy's own confession had done something to him; as much as he had protested that he cared, Stan didn't. He really didn't. "I mean, come on, Kyle. How would you like it if a word used to describe yourself was used as a derogatory word?"_

"_Like 'Jew'? Like I get from Cartman every day?"_

"_You know how you feel about that? Well, that's how I feel about the word gay."_

_There, he had said it._

_Pause._

"_You have got to be shitting me."_

_Stan only gave a shake of the head as his answer, and even that was not daring to make eye contact. He felt like he couldn't look at Kyle; like he couldn't confirm the look of disgust that he somehow knew the redhead must have plastered across his face. And then suddenly, everything was inverted._

"_Holy crap, and I thought I was the gay one…"_

Everything was no longer as it seemed.

* * *

If Sheila Broflovski knew anything, it was that things were not always as they seemed.

To her, Kyle had always been her perfect son, always getting the good marks in school that she valued so highly, rarely answering her or Gerald back in any form, sticking to his morals and his faith. It was Kyle Broflovski's perfect behaviour that had prompted them to adopt Ike; why settle for one perfect son when you can have two?

Admittedly, there had been times when she had been… less than proud of him. He had a distinct stubborn streak, not to mention a short temper, and he always insisted, despite her constant protests on the subject, on remaining friends with the Cartman boy. Still, the former two were rarely displayed by Kyle in her presence, and to her he remained as her high-achieving, perfect son. Unwavering, the mantra inside her head.

"_Gerald! Are you sure everything is ready for when he arrives?"_

_The Jewish man rolled his eyes at his wife, although his back was turned away and said wife couldn't see the slight gesture; he wouldn't dare let her see, definitely not at a time when she was even more stressed than usual. The results would be catastrophic._

"_Yes, Sheila."_

_It was a busy time for the three Broflovskis, including Ike; Kyle was returning home for Hanukkah after a long stint at college. Naturally, Sheila had wanted everything just as perfect as her son for when he returned, and Ike and Gerald had been roped into every necessary and unnecessary preparation for the occasion._

_Sheila entered the kitchen, where both the remaining males of the household were cleaning up the last of the dishes and pans used to cook the masses of food. It was a meal fit for a king, well… a Jewish one, of course. But as she heard a familiar exhaust splutter on the driveway, she cast one last eagle-eyed glance at her handiwork._

_Perfection. Just like Kyle, she thought proudly. _

_And the night passed as smoothly as she had planned. Kyle was prompt in his arrival, admittedly thinner than she had remembered him last, but she merely waved it off as a side effect of the lack of a good cook around, a spot that she could easily fill while he was around._

_It was as she was passing round the table some of her notorious dessert that Ike had to open his foolish mouth._

"_So Kyle, have you made a girlfriend yet at that college of yours?" The Canadian grinned, as any little brother would as they were poking into the personal life of a sibling. He knew it would incite some reaction, and Kyle had to give some kind of answer, especially when the two other people had such a similar interest in the subject._

_Sheila's eager eyes picked up a certain hesitation as Kyle swirled his spoon around the dish. "You do don't you, bubby? Oh that's wonderful! When do we get to meet…?"_

"_No, no, I don't, Mom," he said, waving his hand and smiling slightly. If only they knew, he thought to himself._

"_There must be somebody though," she insisted desperately. She knew what Kyle was like; he was always so secretive about these things, things that she would rather hear about._

"_Mmm… this is really good, Mom…"_

"_Don't change the subject, Kyle."_

_He slumped in his chair, an ever sure sign that he was defeated in his protests. Kyle was still no good at standing up to his mother. He had often considered asking Cartman for advice, and cursed himself now for never doing so._

"_Fine," he said, raising his hands, "there is someone, but I'm afraid you won't be meeting them anytime soon…"_

"_But why, Kyle? Me and your father would love to meet her…"_

_Kyle slammed his fist to the table, and the spoons clattered in their dishes. Everyone at the table was silent._

"_Kyle? What is it?" Sheila was going against her usual inclinations to discipline her eldest son at this point. For one, he was no longer a child, and second, he was clearly upset about something. Her brain went for the most logical explanation. "Did she break up with you? Oh, bubby, I'm so…"_

"_It's not that either," he said through clenched teeth. "I am with someone, but you wouldn't want to meet them."_

"_Is it because they're not Jewish? Because that doesn't…"_

"_Mom, will you just listen to me here? Please?" he added suddenly, before he successfully managed to push her too far. "Look, I wasn't going to say anything, but seeing as you are asking, and so desperate to know, I'm going to tell the truth now._

"_Yes, I am seeing someone. No, they are not Jewish. Yes, they are at my college. They have dark hair, blue eyes and Caucasian."_

_He put up his hand to silence any interruption, before taking a deep breath and carrying on._

"_And I'm afraid you got the pronoun wrong; it's a 'him', not 'her'."_

Everything was no longer as it seemed.

* * *

If Kyle knew anything it was that things were not always as they seemed.

His own feelings, for one. Admittedly, he had never really dated many girls. There was a brief stint with a certain Rebecca, but that ended almost as quickly as it started. For some reason he had always just preferred hanging out with Stan.

That should have been a giveaway if nothing else. He had always liked Stan. Stan had always been there for him, rescuing him, supporting him, playing guitar hero with him. They were like two sides of a coin; very different in many respects, and yet they were closer than any friends, any siblings and, emotionally, any partners.

It was only as he began to mature properly that he realised just how deep his feelings ran.

_Shit._

After years of reading the same lines in Hebrew over and over; he was sure he had taught himself right. Hadn't he always tried to do the most moral thing? Admittedly, he was very liberal in his views, always trying to be anything other than a Gaybasher. After all, it was their life, they could do what they liked as far as he was concerned. Still, he had never considered himself so far along in the spectrum compared to them that he was actually… homosexual himself?

The thought repulsed him, and yet it excited him in ways he couldn't explain. Gay people were like Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al; they were effeminate, they liked to wear tighter fitting clothes, they watched gay TV shows…

And Kyle was nothing like that.

It was like some kind of dirty little secret. Every time he looked in the mirror he no longer saw himself as that Jewish kid. He was that gay kid. He was gay. He was a fucking gay.

What would his parents say? What would his friends say? A lump rose in his throat. What would Stan say?

If he was sure of anything, he wouldn't allow whatever this was to ruin his friendship. Somehow, he could see it, in his mind;

"_Stan, I'm gay…"_

"_You're what?"_

"_I am homosexual."_

"_Get away from me, fag!"_

Although Stan had been reasonable with homosexuality in the past, there was no telling what the information could do. Everyone has dimensions, and exposure to new dimensions could cause a different reaction from somebody. Kyle was loathe to incite that. He had been friends with Stan since… well… all his life. If Kyle couldn't choose to not feel gay, then at least he could choose to keep his urges a secret. Nobody needed to know.

And then…

"_Like 'Jew'? Like I get from Cartman every day?"_

"_You know how you feel about that? Well, that's how I feel about the word gay."_

Shit. Oh shit.

Talk about things not being the way they seemed; not only had Wendy managed to hook herself up with another girl but…

Stan was a quarterback; Stan had been infatuated with Wendy for half of his life. Still, the same could have been said about Wendy, and now she was lezzing it up with some she-dude.

_Why was everything so confusing?_

And then he had to open his mouth:

"_Holy crap, and I thought I was the gay one…"_

Although, considering the aftermath, he was glad of his sudden outburst. _Jesus Christ, three coming outs in one day._ If that weren't enough to let Kyle know the age old shard of wisdom that nothing was as it seemed, well, nothing would.

It was like a breath of fresh air for Kyle; even though he couldn't act completely as he deemed natural for himself in front of his parents, he at least had Stan. And far from his expectations, this only made them closer; only each other knew the secret, they only had each other to lean on. And even through their bad times, neither felt tempted to spread the mutual secret to anybody else in spite. That was the bond they shared.

This "acting" for his parents, of course Kyle got sick of it. Who wouldn't? Constantly having to pretend you are something you are not? It was no less than slavery. And yet he did it, day after day; disappointing his parents with "No, I don't have a girlfriend yet" and then making them smile again with the explanation; "I'm focusing on my studies right now". This always brought on another of his mother's exclamations, "Oh, Kyle, you're a good boy…"

_If only you knew, mom, _he would always think dejectedly.

Of course, this was rectified by his successful grades, able to get him out of the rut he called home, and into a good college. No parental supervision 24/7, no more pretending to be somebody he wasn't. He could act as gay or as straight as he felt, date who he liked, and not have to worry about certain strict guardians ever watching over his shoulder. He felt as free as that magical night he told Stan…

Still, this new freedom didn't get him out of visiting that "rut", and although they acted friendly, Kyle could always tell when they were determined to find everything they could about his life away from home.

And then they broke him… they broke through that surface that he put up whenever he came back. The surface that came down when he passed through the college gates…

"_And I'm afraid you got the pronoun wrong; it's a 'him', not 'her'."_

_Kyle could sense the intake of breath. Ike on his right stuttered for a moment, before quickly gathering up the dishes and washing them up vigorously in the kitchen, a job he usually loathed doing and would usually do just about anything to get out of. But if he was sure of anything, there was no way he was going back into the dining area, not anytime soon anyway._

_Gerald and Sheila just stared at each other, both trying to communicate without words what they had just heard. Surely he couldn't have said…_

"_You're… you're…" stammered Gerald._

"_Dating a man, yes. Gay, yes." Kyle decided that he may as well make his point clear, now that he had gone this far._

_And there was silence, only punctuated by the scrubbing sounds of Ike trying to take out any confusion he had on the cutlery. Kyle decided that he couldn't intrude any more on this; better to give them time to mull it over without him around._

"_Well… Mom… Dad… forgive me, but I know you wanted me to stay over, but I have a basketball game tomorrow… I should probably get back." _

_He got up, pulling his coat on slowly, and attempted to kiss his mother on the cheek. There was a harsh pang in his chest as he felt her lean away from him._

"_Thanks for the taste of home-cooking, Mom," he choked, determined not to cry at this small, yet overwhelmingly upsetting gesture._

_He held out his hand to his father, who shook it, seemingly reluctantly and staring at the ground, but Kyle was merely grateful he hadn't pulled his hand away. "I'll call, okay Dad?"_

_No response._

_No movement._

_No acknowledgement._

_Then he noticed a small movement from his mother's right hand, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright at this point._

_She was grasping at a piece of her shirt, and underneath her clenched fingers was a visible tear._

_It was then that Kyle finally turned on his heel, allowing himself the freedom to no longer burden their household with his mere presence. To no longer torture himself with the visual reality that his parents considered him dead. To return to the place where he could act as he felt, not as he was expected to._

_If he supposedly hated his parents so much, then why couldn't he just stop caring?_

_The fact was he loved his family; even if everything else collapsed they would have still been there, disapproving maybe of whatever reckless action would have caused him to go to their aid, yet still willing to help._

_Every single nosing into his business, every single determination to push him in what they considered the right direction, they hadn't done it because they wanted to rule his life, they had done it out of affection. Nobody would put that much effort in if there had been no true desire to help, right? And why else would they do that?_

_Love._

_And yet it was love that had got him into this mess. The confusing emotion, which makes us slaves to our hearts. It was love of another man that had caused this rift. It was love of his parents that caused the particular rift to cause so much pain to him. Did nobody think that if he could choose, that he would choose to end the hurt? That he would choose to stop loving the cause of the rift, to stop loving the cause of the pain._

_Stop caring, Kyle Broflovski. Stop caring and move on with your life._

_And yet nothing is as it seems, is it? People see us as selfish creatures, who choose passion, lust and immediate satisfaction over the more sacrificial things. And yet there is no choice; only the choice of whether we live as we feel, risking everything for our own sense of what is right, or whether we push aside that which moves us, and repress our deepest desires. The reality is, we are not selfish, we merely go with what feels right to us._

_And even though he tried to repress that which grasped at his heartstrings with painful force, Kyle had to concede that nothing would be the same again between him and his family, and that he would have to live with that._

_He did not allow himself to cry until he had pulled over at a nearby gas station, and not even bothering to shift the gear to park, he curled up in his seat, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks, unseen by anybody._

_To everybody else, this would have seemed just another evening._

Two weeks passed, and back at college, the redhead was back to his usual studying. Yet, somehow, something was different; his routine had changed, he no longer did things in the order he had done before. He made no definite effort to contact home, believing it better to wait for them to want to get in touch with him. Suddenly, the daily phone calls he had had to make before didn't seem so annoying…

It was after a particularly boring lecture that he returned to his dorm room, his back aching from leaning over a desk, religiously copying notes on various legal defence mechanisms, that he spotted his phone flashing on the desk. He rarely kept his phone on, considering it to only be tempting something bad to happen, and prayed to Jehovah that it wasn't another annoying chain text…

Apparently, Kyle had been a good Jew, as the Lord answered his prayer;

_Ike._

He gave a quick prayer of thanks, before offering yet another, begging for a positive message.

_Call soon. I._

Jehovah was doing his job well today. Kyle made an immediate promise that he would pray more often, before skimming his fingers deftly across the keypad, dialling a number that was so familiar to him, and yet now seemed so strange. He hesitated before pressing the "call" button, unsure of what it would lead to. But Ike had requested it, and if he knew Ike, he knew that he would be looking out for any sign that Kyle was answering him, and intercept it (hopefully) before any other inhabitant in the house.

"Broflovski residence."

Kyle sighed in relief at sound of the pre-pubescent Canadian voice.

"Hey, Ike."

"Kyle? Kyle! Jesus Christ, dude! I thought you were never going to call! We've been worried about you, man."

Kyle grinned at the specific words used by Ike; it was not dissimilar to how he himself had spoken at a young age. But one word out of the sentence stuck out.

"Thanks for the concern but- wait, what? We? Who's we? You didn't spread this around did you?"

"No, I didn't! No… I'm talking about Mom and Dad, idiot!"

Kyle gulped. "Mom and Dad?"

He heard a sigh through the other end of the mouthpiece. "Look, I know what you saw, Kyle, but…"

The comforting words of his brother were suddenly drowned out by a high pitched screeching from the other end. Kyle recognised this voice only too well and could make out the words of "Kyle? You're talking to Kyle?" and "Give me that phone right now, young man!" He could feel the same chest ache coming on again, but readily braced himself for the verbal onslaught he was about to receive.

_Lord, for what we about to receive, may we be truly thankful. Amen._

Oh, the irony.

"Kyle Broflovski! What on earth do you think you have been doing?"

_Yep, there it was._

"Do you know how worried we've been? No phone calls! No e-mails! Nothing! We had no idea whether you had gone back to college or whether you had done something stupid? We paid good money for that phone of yours and if you can't even be bothered to switch it on…"

And she went on like that, Kyle doing what he had done in his youth and half-listening to her go on. One thing did come to his mind though; she was ranting about his carelessness of the last two weeks, and yet mentioned nothing of, what he referred to as, 'the incident'.

"… should at least have made an effort to get in contact with us, completely irresponsible…"

Was she in denial? Was she simply trying to block out what had happened? What he had said? Would he have to revert back to 'Pretending Kyle' just to please her?

One thing was for sure though; he was no longer dead to her, as the image of the torn shirt swam back into his mind. People usually don't shout down the phone at dead people, Kyle thought, with a slight smile on his face.

"… at least we know you're alright now, but still… no word in two weeks of all things…"

"Mom?" He interjected suddenly, wanting to get the subject out in the open. "Mom, look, about… that night… I just wanted to say... I'm- I'm really…"

"Look, Kyle, if you're going to apologise there's no need. I realise you have commitments and you couldn't stay but-"

_Oh dear God. She is in denial._

"Mom, please, I just needed to know… about what I said…"

"Kyle, you know I'd love to sit and chat about what is done, but I'm afraid your father and I really must get going, we have our meeting to go to."

"Meeting?"

"PFLAG," he heard her say brightly.

_PFLAG, PFLAG, now why does that mean something?_ He was sure he had heard someone say the exact same thing to him at another occasion. And then it hit him.

"_Hey, Kyle, you're gay, right?"_

_Kyle gave the brunette girl a slight shrug of the shoulders. Why was she talking to him? He had no classes with her, she was no friend of a friend._

"_Well, just in case you didn't know, we have a PFLAG group on campus, if you wanted to go… or something."_

"_PFLAG?"_

"_Yes, PFLAG!" she continued in a joyful manner. "Y'know? Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays? That PFLAG?"_

Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays.

He hadn't spared that idiot girl a minute of thought before, and now…

"There's a PFLAG chapter in South Park?"

"Well there is now."

"What do you mean by that?" _No fucking way. She couldn't have…_

"Why do you think we hadn't made more of an effort to contact you ourselves? Your father and I, and plenty of other parents have been pushing ourselves since your last visit to get this up and running."

This new information was too much for Kyle, whose phone slipped out of his grasp as he collapsed onto the dorm floor, crying with laughter. There was nothing else he could do except for laugh; it was exactly the sort of thing Sheila Broflovski was likely to do, and yet it was the furthest thing that he would have expected her to actually go out and do.

After all the emotional trauma he had suffered? After all the regret that he had subjected himself to? After attempting to convince himself to no longer care for this woman and now…?

If he had just called home, then all of that could have been avoided. Kyle kicked himself; he had been sure that they were the ones who hadn't seen him for what he actually was, when in fact, it was exactly the opposite. In situations like this, all you could do was laugh, even when it seemed completely unfunny to everybody else.

"Kyle? Kyle? Are you alright?"

He pressed the phone to his ear, stifling his chuckles with his hand. "Never better, Mom." Then he looked to the clock sitting by his bed, an idea coming to him. "Hey, when's this PFLAG thing start?"

"15 minutes. Why?"

He had already pulled on a jacket, and was striding towards the door, checking for his car keys in the breast pocket. "I'll be there. I'm coming right now. So save me a seat." Kyle then did a double take. "No, wait, scratch that. Save two. I'm bringing you-know-who," he added.

"Alright, bubby, I'll see you later then."

He snapped his phone shut, allowing the fits of giggles to take over his body once more, as he ambled down the halls, searching for a certain oh-so-familiar name imprinted over the door.

_S. Marsh._

Some things in life are incredibly predictable. You know they will inevitably happen. And others take you by surprise; maybe they had always been there, yet you were too blind, too close minded to pay it that particular attention it deserved, and it passed you by, only to catch you out later when you least expected it. What would life have been like if you had seen these when they were first blooming, caught on quickly. Maybe you could have grown up more with this new dimension in your mind, and be more open to it. As Kyle knew, there was always more that what we could see, and the more we see, the more we understand.

Not everything is as it seems.

**

* * *

**

See? This is what happens when I try to be deep. ¬¬

**If you managed to actually read it all, I salute you! I doubt I could. So please say… Love? Hate? Too preachy? Too angsty? Because I honestly don't know how I feel about this oneshot right now and some criticism might help me out.**

**I'm being very bad; I should be working on getting Betrayal off Hiatus or doing more on Much Ado than big long angsty oneshots.**

**Oh and yes, I do make a cameo in this. :D I couldn't resist.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Gari.**

* * *


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